Dream Police
by Thomas Tom Tom
Summary: Barry attempts to seduce the Dispatch lady, and Paul struggles with all things that aren't police work. The Noughties Police Show AU you didn't know you wanted.
1. Pilot

**A/N: Yes, I live. Just had a load of exams, but now I am FREE! LIKE A BIRD. A sort of frightened bird, to quote Blades.  
**

 **Anyhow, because I am a masochist who enjoys setting ridiculous targets for myself, I have this genius new story. It will be good.**

 **It will also be full of references and bad jokes and ship teasing, because that is literally my default setting. Enjoy! (and please, don't rib me about Echo and Cyberdani and all the other ones. I'm getting to them. I promise. Seriously.)**

* * *

 **1: Pilot**

 _KAON STREET, FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE_

 _19:31, 15/08/2006_

On the corner of the street was a police car.

It was a particularly nice police car: a Dodge Challenger with shining black and white paint, a glossy black polished bullbar, and spotless, almost sparkling perspex light bars. Someone had dubbed it "Chase" according to the flowing white script which ran under the passenger window.

Inside the police car were two men. Both of these men were policemen; and, as such, wore matching blue uniforms.

The one on the left, in the driver's seat, was the taller of the two. His perfectly combed hair was brown, and it had two red streaks dyed into it where it stuck up at the front. His uniform was well-ironed and he wore it as if he were on a poster – long sleeves, boots shined, epaulette sliders absolutely equidistant. His equipment (baton, handcuffs, etc) was arranged along his belt in clear sight. His face – and looking at it, you could tell he was European – was clean-shaven. His blue eyes scanned the street, and his fingers drummed on the steering wheel in a systematic one-two rhythm. Printed along a small rectangular patch on his chest were the words _DS ROWLEY._

The one on the right, however, was both shorter and rather differently dressed. His hair was black, and stuck up haphazardly about his head. His yellowy eyes flashed behind reddish-rimmed glasses which sat slightly crookedly on his face. His uniform was horribly creased and the epaulette slider on his right shoulder was upside-down. There were a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses clipped in his collar. His handcuffs were in his breast pocket and his baton might have been in the back somewhere. He had his feet up on the dashboard and his boots were worn, the polish cracked and faded. Along this man's name-patch was written _DC KANE_.

Kane groaned with repressed boredom. "Paul?" he asked in the general direction of his two-years-his-senior partner.

Rowley, whose first name was indeed Paul – and yes, he had heard all the jokes about his initials being P. Rowley – sighed. "Barry." he answered the most trying 28-year-old in existence.

"I'm just going to say now, I'm bored to shit." Barry Kane said in his Boston accent.

"I'd enjoy the quiet if I were you." Paul replied. "It's not usually this peaceful."

Barry snorted. "Usually we'd've gotten a brick thrown at us by a teenage freedom-fighter because we're callous murderers of racial minorities."

Paul cracked a quarter-smile. "Yeah, I didn't quite get that. You're at least a little bit Asian."

"I'm _half-Chinese_. More than a _little bit_ Asian."

"Which of your mothers is Chinese again?"

"The Chinese one."

"Thanks. That's really descriptive."

"I live to serve."

The twosome's banter was interrupted by the police radio.

"Car 21, Car 21, this is Dispatch, over." the woman manning Dispatch said.

Barry snatched up the radio. "Roger, Dispatch. Car 21, keepin' it real, over."

Dispatch sighed audibly. "Oh God, it's you." She paused, and the sound of a computer mouse clicking came over the radio. "Car 21, we've got a report of a pair of high-speed vehicles running down Iacon Road. Say status, over?"

"Still single, Sam. Haven't met the right girl, I guess. Over." Barry replied.

Dispatch – Sam – exhaled. "I swear to God, Barry..." she muttered, then spoke up. "Car 21, you're to investigate the possible 11-25 and report back, got it? Over."

Paul quickly de-radioed Barry and spoke himself. "Roger, Dispatch. We're on it. Car 21 out." He sat the radio back into its holster on the dashboard and started the engine on the Dodge. They'd barely pulled away from the kerb and driven up to the t-junction at the end of Kaon Street when two sports cars – one red, one yellow – shot past them and down the adjacent road.

Paul sighed and flicked the sirens on, accelerating and turning down Iacon Road. Barry picked up the radio again. "Hey, Dispatch. Got your 11-25 right here. Two vehicles, over."

"Okay, Kane. Description?" Dispatch replied.

"First vehicle's a Chevy. One of those new Corvettes, a whatsitcalled, a Stingray. It's red, with these silver bits. Plate is Sierra-One-Delta-Three-Five-Whiskey-India-Papa-Echo." Barry rattled off. "Got that, over?"

"Roger. Second vehicle? Over."

Barry squinted and leaned down in his chair. The two cars turned a sharp left and Paul span the wheel and pulled the handbrake to slide around the corner without losing too much speed. Barry thumped against the side of his seat. "Damn. These guys are serious drivers. I think Paul's actually trying." he told the radio.

Dispatch laughed quietly, so that Barry wouldn't hear her. "Okay. Description on the second vehicle, Kane?"

"Gottit, Sam. Uh, it's a Lamborghini...looks like a Diablo, I guess. Yellow. Bright yellow. God, that's hideous. Plate's Sierra-Uncle-November-Five-Tango-Romeo-Three-Four-Kilo-Romeo." Barry replied, squinting to catch the numberplates. "We know these guys? 'Cause it feels like we know these guys, over."

Dispatch hummed. "Hang on, running the plates now. One second. Over."

"Take your time, Sam, take your time. Not like we're in a high-speed car chase down Iacon Road towards the hospital or anything. Over."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got your plates, and we _do_ know these guys. Sam and Sean Dalton; street names are 'Sideswipe' and 'Sunstreaker'. Over."

Barry turned to Paul, who was rather concentrating on dodging traffic while maintaining pursuit. "Hey, isn't that doctor girl you're so hung up on called Dalton?"

"If we crash because of you, I will literally kill you, Barry." Paul hissed, manoeuvring the car around a Toyota Prius containing what looked like an entire orphanage. "Dispatch, are we clear for a Code Three, over?" he asked the radio.

Dispatch was silent for a second as she checked with the Duty Sergeant. "Roger that, Duty is authorising a PIT, Rowley. But give them a chance to pull over first, over."

Paul shifted up and the Dodge roared forward until it was just behind the Corvette. Barry switched the radio to the PA system and cleared his throat before pressing the button.

"Speeding vehicles ahead of us, you have one chance to pull over before we seriously dent your pretty cars. This is that one chance. Pull over to the side of the road."

The yellow car flashed its tail-lights and pulled a jay-turn, spinning in the opposite direction.

Paul looked slightly annoyed. "Dispatch, we're not going to get the yellow one. Can we get an APB out on him, over?"

"Roger, Paul. You just get the other one, over."

Barry pressed the button on the PA again.

"I'll go easy on you, red car – if you pull over _now,_ then we won't PIT your ass."

The red car slowed down slightly, and someone's hand appeared from the driver's side window. The hand promptly flipped the pursuing police car the bird, and then retracted back inside the Corvette, the car accelerating again.

Paul sighed. "They never just pull over, do they?"

Barry turned off the PA. "PIT 'em." he said by way of reply, pulling a cassette tape out of the glovebox and slotting it into the car's radio. "Music!" he cried, slapping PLAY on the radio.

Boston's _More Than A Feeling_ exploded inside the car and Paul allowed himself a half-smile, easing the accelerator down and moving to just behind the red Corvette's left rear wheelarch.

"Preparing to PIT, over." he said into the radio.

"I got that when Barry started playing Boston; thanks anyway, Paul." Dispatch replied. "Car 22 is on the way to deal with the other one. Go get him, over."

Paul turned the wheel sharply to the right and the bullbar hit the rear of the Corvette, causing a rapid loss of control on the part of the driver, who to his credit slammed on the brakes and turned into the skid, but not before the red Corvette had skidded to a halt against a metal railing.

The police car drew up along side and Barry got out. He leant on the driver's door of the Corvette and mimed winding the window down. The driver sullenly complied.

Barry flashed his customary 'you-are-so-finished-you-don't-even-know-it' grin. "Tell me, mate...have you ever had a ride in a police car before?"

* * *

 _SKYWARP'S BAR, FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE  
23:54, 15/08/2006_

Skywarp's Bar was, as the name suggested, a bar. It was a nondescript black-painted building with a large, purple neon fighter jet sign over the door with the name of the bar written inside it.

This was one of its most attractive features for most of its patrons. That and the purple neon mixed surprisingly well with the blacklights.

Some of its patrons included Detective Sergeant Paul Rowley and Detective Constable Barry Kane, who were currently sat at the bar. Barry was talking with the owner of Skywarp's Bar; the name of which was Sky Watson, an ex-USAF fighter jockey who decided that the best thing to do after leaving the Air Force was to open a bar in Maine, despite coming from Nevada.

Paul was doing "his thing", as it was called – i.e. he was drinking all by himself and making everyone either jealous that he was talking to the Irish girl tending bar (if they were female) or jealous that their dates were jealous that he was talking to the Irish girl tending bar (if they were male) or debating amongst themselves whether he was gay or not (if they were the table of gay guys in the corner who Sky let drink for free because "he needed a table of gay guys anyway").

The bell (well, it was really just one of those sleigh-bell bracelets which Sky may or may not have stolen from a local elementary school) on the door tinkled and a woman walked in, temporarily drowning out Madonna's _Holiday_ (what, Sky was just the owner, he didn't pick the music) with the sound of traffic.

Paul quickly span his head and gave the woman a cursory glance before turning around sharply and looking intently into his drink. Someone kicked the jukebox and it suddenly broke into Paul Carrack's _When You Walk In The Room._

She was pretty tall – near enough six foot exactly – and right now it could be said that she didn't exactly look her best. She was wearing a nurse's uniform under a big white coat and a long red scarf. She was either really, really bad at putting eyeshadow on, or she was completely exhausted, with big rings around her green eyes which were bloodshot from overuse. Her hair was messy, brown with red and white streaks shot through it. It also looked like she had a lot of reminder-type notes written up her arm in red biro. Either that or she was a very good friend of Dolores Umbridge.

She made a beeline for the bar and upon reaching it and nearly collapsing on it, the Irish girl at the bar excused herself from the conversation with Paul and went over.

"Hullawrer, Eilidh. Usual?" she asked, wiping off the bar in front of the woman.

Eilidh dragged a hand down her face and blinked. "Double shot of bourbon, Katie, please. Just got out of a _triple_ shift at the hospital and then my idiot brothers had to get themselves arrested, and I had to go bail them out. Again."

Katie rolled her eyes. "What was it this time?"

"Speeding, then dangerous driving and resisting arrest. The girl at the station – I think her name-tag said DC Riley – said they'd have gotten off with a ticket if they'd've just pulled over, but no, they had to be Sam and Sean and start a car chase." Eilidh replied.

Katie frowned and cocked her head, putting a glass on the bar and half-filling it with coffee. "God, are they ok? I heard the police car put someone in the wall."

"Sean's fine – he didn't want to 'hurt his car', the moron – and Sam's only got a couple bruises. Apparently the guy in the police car was 'going easy' on him."

Katie raised an eyebrow, pouring quite a lot of bourbon into the glass, then putting the bottle back under the bar and pulling what was apparently an aerosol can of whipped cream from a drawer. "What do you suppose that means?" she asked the air pointedly, spraying some of the whipped cream into the glass and sliding it to Eilidh.

Paul coughed slightly. "Ah, it means I just dented his car instead off writing it off."

Eilidh looked mortified. "Oh god, I'm sorry! Here I am talking about all this and I guess you're here to get away from the shop talk. Sorry."

Paul shook his head. "It's fine. I'm a bit more embarrassed that I put your brother in the wall."

In the background, Barry passed Sky a five-dollar note.

"Oh, no, it's completely fine, I mean, you're just doing your job." Eilidh rushed, waving a hand dismissively. "I mean, you wouldn't hold it against me if I sewed up a bullet hole or something."

Barry passed Sky another five-dollar note.

Paul half-smiled. "No, I suppose I wouldn't. Hi, uh, I'm Paul. DS Rowley. You're Eilidh, right? I mean, I've seen you around the station sometimes. Because, no offence, but..."

"...Sam and Sean are in and out of there like a cuckoo clock." Eilidh finished. "Nice to meet you, uh, in person. I mean, instead of from my brothers who apparently really don't like you."

Katie smirked and left the two, moving over to where Sky was receiving yet more money from Barry. She leant on the bar and whispered to the two of them. "My God, but they are adorable."

"It's less adorable when you have to watch Paul hide behind his desk and stalk her whenever she comes in to bail Sideswipe and Sunstreaker out." Barry huffed.

"He does that?" Sky asked. "No, right, we're talking about Our Paul Rowley, right?"

Barry nodded solemnly. "It's honestly sad to watch." he said, conveniently forgetting every single one of his own attempts to seduce Sam Riley from Dispatch.

Katie squinted. "Is he flirting? I can't tell."

Barry nodded. "This is Paul at 100% flirt mode. Unfortunately, it's identical to him normally, except he undoes the top button on his shirt."

"Damn." Sky whistled. "That is sad." He threw a quarter at the jukebox, making it skip and suddenly switch to playing _Heather Down The Moor_ by Ruth Notman, because for some reason that was on the jukebox. (He blamed Katie.)

"Long day?" Paul asked, gesturing to the very empty glass in Eilidh's hand. "If you're drinking something like that, it can't have been an easy day."

Eilidh laughed humourlessly. "You have no idea."

Paul levelled his eyes. "Try me. I'm stuck in a car with Barry for half the day and the other half I'm watching him embarrass himself trying to hit on the girl from Dispatch."

Eilidh giggled a little bit. "Okay. So, I got up at six, and first off I had a double shift _and,_ because the anaesthetist took the day off to go wherever with her boyfriend, I was stuck in the anaesthesia room for two whole hours while they were operating. Stupid Minerva and her not being forever alone like me."

Across the room, Barry could practically hear "she's single" write itself in Paul's brain.

Eilidh went on. "Anyway, after that there was this whole mess with a toddler whose mother thought he might have swallowed something so we had to get him x-rayed, then it turned out he hadn't swallowed anything at all so that was a complete waste of time. About two hours, to be exact. Then I was in the maternity ward for four hours, which was noisy and horrific. Didn't even get to enjoy break because Ian Vernon, you know, the fireman, came in with a bunch of second-degree burns which I had to treat because we went to college together and he's not supposed to be away from the station. Then it was three hours in the geriatric ward, which is just depressing, and then three hours in paediatric ward, which wasn't bad, and then another three in A&E, and I was finally free. Until I got a call from Sam asking me to come over and bail him and Sunny out, and by the time I got finished with the two copies of release forms it was half-eleven and I needed a drink."

"Sorry about that." Paul apologised.

"It's okay, I'm just tired and pissy. Not your fault." Eilidh sighed. "So how was your day?"

Paul laughed. "Nowhere near as bad as yours, I'm afraid. Went into the station at eight, paperwork until lunch at noon, then I dragged Barry down from flirting with Dispatch to the car, drove the beat until about half-seven, then I got into a car chase with your brothers and put one of them into the wall. Took Sam back to the station, locked him in his special cell, filled out the forms, and then had to endure Barry attempting to seduce Dispatch again."

Eilidh snorted. "Sam has a _special cell?"_

Paul shrugged. "I sort of make a habit of giving him the same one every time he comes in."

Eilidh laughed aloud. "God, I did wonder why he hates you so much."

"It could be the consistent damage I do to his car."

Eilidh checked her watch, which was still hanging upside-down in her top pocket. "That could be it. Well, nice talking with you, DS Rowley." she smiled, then grimaced. "I've got to actually sleep sometime soon or I'll never be able to get up tomorrow. I'll see you later. Hopefully."

Paul sat and watched her leave before Barry came over and slapped him about the head. "You're an idiot." Barry told his partner.

"In what way am I an idiot, Barry?" Paul returned, still looking at the door.

Barry stepped back, aghast, and gestured multiple times towards Paul, and then the door, and back again, before realising that his partner completely didn't get it and throwing his hands up in defeat. "Forget it. We'll pick this up tomorrow morning. Let us walk back to the Police Cave."

The so-called Police Cave was Barry and Paul's shared apartment. They shared it mainly because Paul was pretty much incapable of actually doing anything besides work without help; and Barry couldn't afford anywhere else on a police officer's salary.

"Cave" was a fairly accurate description. The Police Cave consisted of one single bed, one very old sofa, one armchair made out of Stan Bush records, a very, very small TV, and Paul's laptop from when he was in college. However, it was home.

So Barry and Paul went home.


	2. Stunticon Arc: 1

**A/N: AAAAAAHHHHH YEAHHHHHH**

 **Damn right. I wrote more of this. By God it's a lot of fun.**

 **Excuse my lack of knowledge about American police systems.**

 **Please God you guys, review this. I have no idea whether you all like it or not, and while I probably won't stop if you don't like it, I might go a bit faster if I knew you _did_ like it. Savvy?**

 **Obviously Groove is the Protectobot Groove, and Percival the Coroner is Perceptor. Dead End is Dead End. Duh.  
** **The Captain is supposed to be Chromia. Sam Riley is Strongarm. Obviously. Anyhow, pls enjoy, and review if you like what I'm doing here, if you've got a suggestion, or even if you just want me to clarify something.  
**

 **Have fun!**

* * *

 **TONIGHT: Barry struggles with timekeeping, Paul jumps off a bridge, and a gang of car thieves make their entrance.**

* * *

 _ROWLEY & KANE'S APARTMENT, PRAXUS STREET, FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE  
07:54, 16/08/2006_

Barry eyed the clock. He had six minutes. He could _do_ this. He eyed his age-old enemy.

The name "EIGHT-O-CLOCK COFFEE" was printed boldly on the packet. It was taunting him.

He fumbled with the filter paper, stuffing it into the top of the machine, then carefully poured the granules from their container into the waiting receptacle, measuring them out exactly. He grabbed the kettle and filled it with water from the tap, sliding it onto its rest and then flicking the coffee machine on. A small red LED switched on.

He stood up straight. "Five minutes. Should be fine. Five minutes."

The clock flicked to 7:55.

He wiped at the sweat on his brow.

"Five. Minutes." he told the coffee machine. "Five minutes. You take any more time than that and I will hate you forever."

7:56. He shot a look at the coffee machine. "Come on. GO. **BREW.** _"_

Barry ignored Paul's strange looks and continued. "Come on, come on. For the love of God, come on."

7:57. "Oh God, three minutes. Three minutes! JUST BREW."

7:58.

" _Dammit_."

He dabbed at his brow again. " _God._ You're stressin' me out here."

7:59. " _BREWWWWW."_ Barry begged the machine.

The red LED turned green. Barry inhaled sharply. With trembling hands he unhooked the kettle from its seat and frantically poured himself a cup of coffee.

Paul raised an eyebrow. "I know what you're doing."

Barry poured some condensed milk into the mug, then looked around frantically. "Where the hell is my spoon?"

"You're trying to brew the coffee at eight o'clock exactly and then drink it in the space of a minute." Paul continued.

Barry attempted to stir the coffee with his index finger and failed miserably. He burned his finger and had to wrap it haphazardly in a bandage.

8:00. Barry grabbed a fork and stirred his coffee with that instead. He laughed maniacally. "It's perfect."

Paul nodded calmly.

Barry went on, clutching the mug of coffee in his bandaged left hand. "The day has finally come." he said giddily. "I always knew it would."

Paul coughed and pointed to the clock.

Barry's face paled. He looked at the clock.

8:01.

"Dammit!" Barry exploded. He poured the entire cup of coffee down the sink and then the contents of the entire kettle followed it down with a sad gurgle.

Paul facepalmed. "Just because it's called Eight-O-Clock Coffee doesn't mean you have to drink it at eight o'clock exactly." he said.

"You've obviously never drank Eight-O-Clock Coffee." Barry shot back. "I'll let you have some. Sometime. When I actually work out how to make it myself."

Paul sighed the 'oh, forget it, I just give up' way that he often did when Barry was being particularly obtuse. "Never mind. We're supposed to be at the station by half-eight, and if you're not ready then I _will_ go without you."

"You _wouldn't._ " Barry hissed. "The Captain'll chew me out for sure."

"You are forgetting that you are always late, even when I drive you." Paul pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's for a good reason."

"Please enlighten me."

"Chicks dig the bad-boy rule-breaker persona."

"You are telling me that women in a _police station_ who are all _police officers_ and are dedicated to the upholding of the _law_ and/or _rules_ are attracted to a bad-boy rule-breaker persona?"

"Yeah, okay, when you say it like that it doesn't make much sense. It's the juxtapositioning of my carefree rule-breaking attitude and my serious, dreamy and heroic police officer occupation which makes me so irresistible."

Paul properly laughed. "Yes, of course. This is why you have tried and failed to make any headway in seducing one of the single most stringent and by-the-book officers in the city for about two years now, and your last relationship was with a strange and exceptionally clingy woman who was a foot and a half shorter than you and dyed her hair entirely silver."

"Felicia was a great girl."

"She insisted upon being called 'Frenzy'."

"Well, maybe she was a bit weird. But we had a good thing going!"

"Your relationship was entirely physical."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"You are a deplorable human being. Get in the car."

* * *

 _FAIRHAVEN POLICE DEPARTMENT 45th PRECINCT, POLYHEX STREET, FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE  
_ _8:32, 16/08/2006_

Barry's morning had gone from bad to worse.

Not only had he been bested by the Eight-O-Clock Coffee, but now he had been defeated in the latest battle in the war between himself and the lovely Sam (from Dispatch).

He regarded his solitary doughnut sadly. He also regarded the small stack of paperwork – wrapped in plastic film with a cheery blue post-it note attached to the front – which his doughnut was sat on irritated admiration.

He picked up the post-it note, dusted the sugar off it, and read it tersely to himself.

" _Dear Barry,_ " it read, written in a careful, collected hand using perfectly uniform, smudgeless navy blue ink, " _you left this on my desk accidentally. You also owe me exactly six hundred and forty-three pens of assorted colors._ "

It was signed " _Sam"_ in perfect, exactly-at-90-degrees handwriting.

Barry cast a look across the room to where Sam Riley (from Dispatch) was speaking into her headset, blue lipstick and blue eyeshadow sat on the table in front of her, and her plaster-cast-clad right arm resting on the arm of her chair.

Paul cast him a look over the divider between his and Barry's desks. "Don't do it." he said warningly.

Barry looked affronted. "Do what?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking about doing right now involving Sam."

"How do you know I'm even thinking of doing anything right now involving Sam? I'm just staring into space over here." Barry said defensively.

"Oh please, Barry. You have the look." Paul said, inclining his head in the way that he often did when Barry was being especially trying.

"I do _not_."

"You have the look that says 'I say, I feel as though I haven't endured enough pain today, I think I shall go and bother the woman colloquially known as _Strongarm_ in the station until she finally snaps and beats me to death with her dispatch headset.'" Paul said flatly.

"You're exaggerating." Barry scoffed. "And I'm going to prove you wrong." He stoutly got up out of his seat, pushed it back in under his desk, marched across the room, performed a fantastically dexterous manoeuvre which allowed him to pretend-stumble two feet, grab a blue pen out of Sam Riley's "Pens Mug" (which Paul knew Barry knew was Sam's _favourite_ pen), twirl it around his fingers and slide it into his breast pocket, then stand up straight again and come straight back the way he'd come and sit back down at his desk.

Paul regarded him with cold disdain.

Barry clicked the pen off his forehead and nonchalantly started filling out his arrest report for the Dalton twins.

Paul raised an eyebrow.

Barry printed his name _BARRY WEI KANE_ at the bottom of the report, scribbled down his ID number _1865/643,_ signed his name with a flourish, clicked the pen off his forehead, and then dropped the pen onto the finished report triumphantly.

Paul crossed his arms and frowned.

Paul's crushing stare of disapproval was interrupted by the Captain whistling loudly from her office, having just gotten off the phone with someone. "Rowley, Kane! Ginny's got a vic near Iacon Park. I want you pair on it yesterday!" she ordered. Paul was already up and out of his chair before Barry could even react.

* * *

 _24 IACON PARK DRIVE,_ _FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE  
_ _9:08, 16/08/2006_

Paul got out of the car and shut the door firmly, taking stock of the scene. A crowd of people surrounded the area, which was fenced off with yellow POLICE LINE tape and some uniformed officers were fending off the reporters. Paul spotted Virginia Parker, also known as Groove in the 45th Precinct, and made his way over, followed by Barry.

Paul ducked under the police tape. "What have you got, Ginny?" he asked, surveying the area. There was a car wrapped around a lamppost, a body in the back seat. The coroner's van was parked not far off.

"One vic, male, late forties I'd guess. Some old woman walking her dog found the poor guy this morning. I was thinking it could be a suicide, but then I checked the other side of the car." Ginny replied, leading Paul over to the crashed car. "'S covered with purple spraypaint. You ever heard of anything called the Stunticons?" she asked, pointing.

Barry whistled. "Yeah, actually. They're a street gang – small time, dumb stuff mostly: jacking cars, selling 'em, that sort of thing. Never thought they'd graduate, so to speak."

On the other side of the car, in bold purple spraypaint, was the phrase DON'T CROSS THE STUNTICONS with a few skull-and-crossbones designs drawn on for good measure.

Paul set his jaw. "We know anything about the vic?" he asked Ginny. She shrugged.

"Percy's just finishing up now, if you wanna go talk to him." she said, gesturing to a tallish, bespectacled man with neat black hair and a red shirt under his green coroner's scrubs.

Paul thanked Ginny and Barry bounded over to the coroner. "Hey, Percy! What's the haps?" he asked.

Percival Epcot stood up from where he was crouched over the man's body. "Good day, gentlemen. As you can see, the victim is male, and I would estimate in his early fifties."

Paul pulled on his black evidence gloves. "CoD?" he asked, crouching down and inspecting the body.

"Certainly not a car crash." Percival said. Barry cocked his head quizzically.

"What'd'ya mean by that, Percy?" he asked. "The dude's obviously been _in_ a car crash, I mean look at him."

"Indeed, Detective Kane. However, if you direct your attention to his chest; you can see an entry would. I would estimate it came from a small firearm, most likely a 9mm round." Percival pointed out. "Furthermore I discovered a brick tied over the accelerator of the car. This was murder, gentlemen, a murder supposed to send a message."

"I think I've got an ID." Paul spoke up, bringing a wallet out of the dead man's jacket pocket and pulling a driver's licence out of it. "He's called Isaac Sumdac, 52."

"Hell, I know that name." Barry realised, snapping his fingers. "Guy ran a used car dealership with his kid. Damn, poor girl."

"Well, this gives us possible motive, I suppose." Paul said, standing up and taking a business card out of the wallet. "Got an address; Sumdac Motors, on Vos Crescent." He put the wallet and driver's licence into an evidence bag. "So, this gang wants our vic to sell their stolen cars, he refuses, they threaten him, he still refuses, maybe threatens to go to the police; so they shoot him and dump him in the park in one of his own cars as a message."

"Makes sense." Barry agreed. "They might be movin' in on the kid, though. We should probably get someone over there."

"Thanks, Percival." Paul said. "Come on, Barry. Let's get to Sumdac Motors."

* * *

 _SUMDAC MOTORS, VOS CRESCENT,_ _FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE  
_ _9:48, 16/08/2006_

The Indian girl pushed herself off the desk and stood up straight when the bell above the door chimed and two police officers walked in, badges glinting.

"Excuse me, miss." Paul started. "Are you Ms. Sumdac?"

"Yes?" Ms. Sumdac replied. "I'm Sari Sumdac, how can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to inform you of this, Sari, but we found your father dead this morning. It looks like a murder." Paul said.

"Oh God." Sari breathed. "Oh God."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your dad, if that's ok?" Barry asked carefully, shooting a 'Jesus Christ, Paul, be less of a robot' look at his partner.

Sari blinked a few of her tears away and inhaled slowly. "Y...yeah, I think I can do that." she said shakily. Paul pulled out his notepad and clicked his pen.

"I know it's difficult, but can you try and tell us if there was anyone who might have wanted to hurt your dad?" Barry asked. Sari shook her head.

"N-no...I mean, everyone around here loved Dad. He was a good guy – I mean, I knew we weren't doing _super_ great on the money front, but he didn't let it bother him." Sari choked out. "Wait...actually, some guy came in last week – I didn't think anything weird was up, but him and Dad had some kinda argument. I figured it was about a car breaking down or something, that happens sometimes, and then I didn't give it any more thought. _God,_ I'm so _stupid!_ "

Barry gave Paul a look. "Did you get this man's name?" Paul asked sharply.

Sari wiped at her eyes. "Uh, uh, no, sorry. Uh, he had something on the back of his jacket, if it helps?"

Barry nodded. Sari looked upwards, searching her memory. "Uh, I think it said...I think it said 'Dead End?'"

Barry snapped his fingers. "That's great. That's really, really great. Thanks a lot, Sari. And don't worry. We'll get the guy. Do you have anyone you can stay with?"

Sari nodded. "Uh, yeah. My boyfriend."

Barry nodded. "Great. Stay with him. That's all for now, Sari."

"Thank you for your time, and my condolences." Paul said in lieu of a goodbye, as Barry was already halfway out of the office, leaving a shocked Sari behind.

"So I take it you know this 'Dead End', Barry?" Paul asked, on the way down the pavement to the car.

"Hell yes. He's a Stunticon. Real name's Dylan Elmwood." Barry cackled. "Small time player, illegal street racer, you name it, and as long as it's to do with cars, he's done it."

"You've got an address for him?" Paul asked, unconsciously checking his SIG P228 pistol at his hip.

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do." Barry scoffed, opening the car door and sliding into his seat. "Let's go."

* * *

 _DYLAN ELMWOOD'S APARTMENT, MIRANDA AVENUE,_ _FAIRHAVEN CITY, MAINE  
_ _10:39, 16/08/2006_

Barry inspected the door. "Locked." he said to Paul, who was mysteriously not beside him like he should have been. He looked around. "Paul?"

Paul jogged up. "Sorry. Was just on the radio with the Captain. She says we're good."

Barry stood nonplussed. "What? We're just knocking on his door, not..."

Barry was not able to finish, because Paul suddenly drew his pistol and kicked the door off it's hinges, shouting "FCPD! Down on the ground!"

"Oh goddammit!" Barry cursed, hurriedly drawing his Beretta 92FS and following his partner.

A wiry man with a beanie hat, a maroon leather jacket with DEAD END on the back, and a beatnik beard suddenly shot out of a side room, past Barry, and out the back door. Paul followed shortly after, leaving Barry standing in an empty room.

"God dammit." he cursed, and went to go get the car.

Dead End sprinted down through the car park behind his house, jacket flying in the wind and his hat barely on his head.

Paul followed, easily keeping pace with the sprightly man. Ahead, Dead End scrambled up over a small metal fence and dropped down into a small alley, taking off at a run. Paul flat-out vaulted the fence and landed in a forward roll, picking the chase back up at full tilt. Dead End skidded around a corner and ran along towards a small bridge over a pond, where a woman in a red scarf suddenly stopped, aware of the chase currently taking place.

Eilidh Dalton did not want her day off ruined by being taken hostage some guy running from the police. She had had too dreadful a day yesterday (aside from meeting a nice policeman in a bar) for that to happen. So she reacted accordingly.

And suddenly, Dead End was upon her.

At least, he thought he was. In fact, she had ducked sideways and put out a fist just before he could get a grip on her, and Dead End took a solid right cross to the jaw, stumbled past her and then was unfortunate enough to be tackled off the side of the bridge by Paul, coming from the opposite direction to the one which Dead End was expecting.

They ended up in the pond, Paul cuffing the car thief and hauling him up and out, sopping wet.

Eilidh made a squeaking noise and hid behind her scarf when Paul emerged from the pond, his shirt sticking to him and water pouring off him.

"Oh, good morning, Eilidh. Thanks for that." Paul said to her offhandedly.

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. No problem. You're welcome." She stuttered. Apparently nice policeman from the bar last night was also some kind of superhuman. And apparently she was a danger magnet.

"Where'd you learn that, anyway?" Paul asked.

"I did 5 years in the 144th Parachute Medical Squadron." Eilidh replied. "Ex-Lieutenant Eilidh Dalton, reporting for duty." she awkwardly joked.

Paul gave her a smile and saluted. "Ex-Captain Paul Rowley, B Squadron, 22nd Special Air Service Regiment."

"You're from Leeds?" Eilidh asked.

"Originally."

"You don't have the accent."

"You don't have the Essex accent."

Dead End groaned through about 4 broken ribs. "Oh for God's sake, what's the point. Just arrest me already."

Paul gave him a look. "You're under arrest for the suspected murder of Isaac Sumdac. You have the right to remain silent."

Barry pulled the police car up, the lights on. He got out and stared at Paul, dripping wet and holding a casual conversation. "What even _are_ you, Paul? Some kind of human-shaped police robot?"

Paul grinned, a rare thing for him. "Not quite, Barry. Book this guy." he said, handing Dead End over. Paul undid his top button and turned to Eilidh. "Would you mind leaving a phone number with me? Just in case we need to call you into the station about this."

Barry facepalmed and went to push Dead End into the back of the car.


End file.
